


Hesitant And Honourable, But Both So Haggard

by 1BabyDoll_of_Fandom9



Series: The Hazardous Hectic Heroics of Helia Potter [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: A lot of tags are for future events or characters, Abused Harry Potter, Abused Helia Potter, Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Alpha Logan (X-Men), Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Helia Potter, BAMF Logan (X-Men), Brotherhood of Mutants (X-Men), Child Abuse, Child Harry Potter, Child Helia Potter, Child Neglect, Distrustful Helia, Female Harry Potter, Feral Logan (X-Men), Feral Victor Creed, Frostbite, Gen, Grumpy Logan (X-Men), Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Harry is a Little Shit, Helia Doesn’t Trust Adults, Helia Has a Heart, Helia Potter was Raised by Other(s), Helia is a Little Shit, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Logan Has a Heart (X-Men), Logan Is Really In Touch With His Feral Side, Logan is a Softie (X-Men), Mutants, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parental Logan (X-Men), Pessimistic Helia Potter, Protective Logan (X-Men), Sarcastic Harry Potter, Sarcastic Helia Potter, Sassy Harry Potter, Sassy Helia Potter, The Dursley’s Are Horrible, Though she likes to hide it, Timeline What Timeline, Xavier Institute, but she wants to, or anyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:21:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1BabyDoll_of_Fandom9/pseuds/1BabyDoll_of_Fandom9
Summary: It was in the midst of that frigid winter that Helia learned. That the cold burned...and burned until it left all in its wake a dying husk of what it once was.The streets iced, windows frosted over blocking the illusions of warmth behind them, and the cold seeped into everything and every being.She wondered what the woodlands looked like during these freezing months?Were they blacken wood of decaying trees, chilled winds that howled as the earth suffocated dying underneath the blanketed snow and ice? Or did the snow glisten and glitter as the sunbeams hit just right between the sleeping trees, as snowflakes danced with the winter winds a timeless dance continued all winter long.She must be losing her mind for wanting to see it for herself and that maybe, just maybe winter might be more forgiving if she was surrounded by nature instead of the lifeless concrete of civilization.Would she learn to live with this frozen ice in her veins? Or when the sun finally comes out, would she to melt away to nothingness no longer able to belong in that warm light?All she knew was in that stillness of the silent cold, he was the only one that she could hear. To her surprise he could hear as well.
Relationships: Logan (X-Men) & Harry Potter, Logan (X-Men) & Helia Potter
Series: The Hazardous Hectic Heroics of Helia Potter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583980
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	1. And So The Winteress, Khione Is Reborn.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of the Flashback of Helia’s childhood and what would of happened if her saviour stuck around giving her a completely different up bringing.
> 
> HP Timeline is pushed up and explained how in the first chapter notes.
> 
> I don’t know if I’m going to continue to give this little butterfly more chapters, but I really love the idea behind it as both characters really mean a lot to me and I love them so. Who knows though, certainly not me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter time line is pushed up by 11 years so Helia is born in 1991 the year currently is 1999.  
> Helia is 8 years old and in four years it will be the X-men movie which is based in 2003.

Heliantheae Potter hated the cold.

If she had anyone that cared for her, they would ask her how could she hate such a magical time of the year. Why there was Christmas, ice skating, eggnog and hot chocolate to be had, snow was gorgeous as it sparkled in the morning light or when you strolled through the park on an evening stroll with a loved one. 

Helia would counter that Tom-foolery with, yes snow was beautiful gazing from a window as your safe and cozy in your home with your stomach full and your heater turned up to high. It was a killer though when you’re tossed out of your only shelter, nursing blooming bruises on your fragile throat and your ribs—not to mention your so hungry and starved you can count all twenty-four of them— no winter protection that people bundle themselves up before trekking through the winter weather.

Now she was locked out of her, relatives house the only home she ever knew, in the middle of the winter. Now she was no stranger to being kick out in fact her Aunt and Uncle did it quite often during the summer and spring months. Usually because she couldn’t finish the ever-growing list of chores she was given and expected to complete— _“or else, girl.”_ — or they just felt like throwing another wrench in her already troublesome life. 

She learned though as she shivered and tried to huddle her freezing body into large hand down clothes, as a chilled gust of wind knocked her breath out of her lung as it went right through her.

This was a different kind of torture from biting insults, hurling fists, cracks of a belt, or countless hours of nonstop work. The snow seemed to add something, as it bites it’s icy fangs into her skin with its frigid chill her clothes offered no protection being wet and frozen they stuck to her body uncomfortably not letting her feel anything but a freezing pain. 

She cursed her small body injured body for not being able to do anything, but shake and shiver at its useless a temp at trying to generate body heat that she desperately needs.

She half stumbled, half walked down the icy sidewalk, passing adults as she went on her way with no destination on her mind except _away_ from her relatives.

No one paid her any heed, window shopping for the holidays, gabbing on their mobile phones, rushing to and from work all in different worlds even thought they all lived on the same earth. Her head ducked lower as a blonde woman pulled her equally blonde son away from her a sneer on her perfectly painted lips and her dainty nose that was sadly genetics and not surgery reformed up in the as if she smelled something horrid.

The expression on the snobby lady’s face was something that she cherished, as she put her finger back down thankful that she could at least have something to defend against the judgment and ridicule.

All at once she is hit by how tired she is of the judgment, the hurt, the insults, the cold, of being alone.

Lifting her tired head to see where she ended up wondering, the window shops, coffee house, and the bakery could only mean one thing. She’s in the bustling downtown of Little Whining she knows that it’s a fifteen-minute drive from Private Drive, her Uncle complains about it over his glass of brandy before supper.

Spying a clock on the wall of the bakery through the window she is stunned to see she’s been walking for over two hours—guess all that running from Dudley and his little gang and all the chores helped with her stamina— She doesn’t bother to glance across the street to the nine-story building that is towering over her, Grunnings she chuckled to herself even though is felt like anything but humorous.

It seems that no matter how far she goes she can’t escape the chains that weigh her down and keeping her from escaping the reach of her relatives.

Turning into the alleyway in between the bakery and coffee house hoping the alleyway is a little sheltered from the cold winds with being in closed between two builds. The alleyway was littered with patches of salted ice here and there, but no snow so hopefully the concrete isn’t to wet—not like her clothes could get any wetter unless she decided to throw herself in the frozen pond in Little Whining’s only park— she half slides, half slumps down the alley wall, her soaked feet aching but strangely numb screamed for her to stop, _just stop._

Time gave the impression of passing slowly and fast at the same time, if that had sense to anyone but her. Her dark eyelashes flutter restlessly against her blood-red cheeks that were painfully chilled as she rested curled up against the stone wall next to a ice-cold dumpster. Her frosted breath left her slowly turning blue lips in puffs of white, a hitch in her breath hisses out of her as the taste of blood blooms in her mouth her tongue smarting from the accidental injury she just wanted her teeth to stop chattering the noise was kind of annoying she wanted to rest.

Her thoughts swim in a haze of confusion and cold—why does cold burn, she didn’t know what hurt worse the burn from a flame or the icy burn of the cold— her instinct shove her into a more aware state as she picks up the sound of boots shuffling on iced concrete and a hacking cough that booms in the freezing silence of her suffering. She doesn’t bother to lift her head from where it’s curled against her shoulder, shielded from the cold a bit. There’s no need to a knowledge whoever it was, they were just going to walk past her like all the others.

No one ever care about what they perceived to be lower than them, to her relatives she was nothing but a burden forced upon them by her good for nothing parents, a low-born freak spawn of a drunk and a useless woman. They said she was lucky that they so graciously took her in, why she could’ve ended up on the streets—Helia didn’t know if the jokes on her now or if it ever wasn’t, because that’s exactly where she is now—

Her ears alert to the sounds around her as she waits for the person to pass on by, even if the thought of another person ignoring her pain, of leaving her when she’s at her lowest fills her with anger and indignation a sarcastic part of her mind deliriously thinks her anger could at least warm her spirit.

 _She waited…waited…waited….and waited,_ only she didn’t her anything.

A scruffy boot that looked better than her own soaked hand-down sneakers that were way too big for her which wasn’t saying much came into to her line vision. Her heart squeezed painfully she didn’t feel any fear only reluctant acceptance, this was going to be one of those times when someone just had to _kick_ someone when they were all ready down wasn’t it?

If being with her Uncle taught her anything it was silence was the best way for it to be over and done with, she could only hope it would be the same with this person.

The alleyway was silent, the kind of silence that made hairs stand on end with how still and stifling it was. The chilled winter air crackled with tension as the two inhabitants of the alley remained silent, as they both waited on the other to talk first.

The booted foot knocked against hers lightly, Helia puffed out an annoyed sigh that dissipated into a cloud of white smoke. It took a lot of effort to lift her head, in the back of her mind the strain of it worried her, but she had other worried too as she gazed up at the foots owner.

He was just as scruffy as his boots, he wore jeans like her with two shirts on under his warm and worn winter jacket that reminded her of deer fur for some bizarre reason it brought comfort to her.—and also made her want to liberate it— He certainly looked wild with dark locks falling in his face, to his broad shoulders and an equally wild and long beard covering his hard features.

“Hey Kid, what ya doing out in the cold.” His gruff voice demanded, not asked. His hazel eyes zeroed on to her with razor focus, her mind almost confused those eyes with the eyes of a wolf that she saw on the telly.

Her near blue lips tugged up into a weary smirk to goaded him into getting it over, or maybe it was a weak a temp at a snarl warning him from trying anything.

As always her mouth to brain filter malfunctioned, as words came spitting out like acid. “Minding my own business, you should try it, _Old man_.” 

Normally after she blurts out the first thing that come to mind—or mouth— she would just duck her head and hope that the punishment would be over quick, that usually happen when she used her sharp words that always ran in her head. Something told her not to lower her head, that she had to seem strong. Even though the only way she could support her tired head was to lean it back against the stone wall quirking a dark eyebrow up at the scruffy wild man. Unknowingly showing offer her rapidly darkening throat, that showcase just what caused her bruised flesh.

As she expected the man scoffed-huffed at her attitude and left her to her slow descend into hypothermia and most likely frostbite from how white her fingers are the odd texture they feel like.

Closing her emerald eyes as she felt the snowflakes fall onto her eyelashes and cheeks. A water drop trailed down her cheek, and no one was around to argue with her that it clearly was a tear—if someone did try to argue with her she would tell them she didn’t think her body was able to produce tears with how cold she was, they would probably freeze—

The crunch of ice underfoot jarred her out of her mental pity argument, the wild man was back—guess it was too much to ask to freeze in peace— he was holding a cup of something. He walked up to her in away that told her he was used to being feared, used to being a predator, he crouched down in front of her reminding her of a crouching wolf or some type of large feline. The cup was held out to her, it was one of those paper cups that you get out of the coffee house that on the opposite stone wall she’s leaning against.

She lazily blinked her large emerald eyes up at him not knowing what he wanted. He heaved a sighed at her, reaching for her hand only to pull back when she uselessly jerked back into the stone wall. Her heart speeding up from the slow pace it was.

“Not gonna to hurt ya, Kid.” He soothed gruffly, a soft rumble came from his chest. 

With that said he slowly reached for her hand as he watched her reaction, and she watched him wearily as he placed the shockingly warm cup in her numb hand. His hands that felt and looked rougher than anyone’s she’s ever seen—except hers—but she could barely feel them with how numb and tingly her hands were. They cupped hers when he noticed she didn’t have the strength to hold the cup herself, his hazel eyes glinting with a strange golden light or shine? What was the word she was looking for?

“It’s okay, Kid.” He rumbled, as he helped her lift the warm cup up to her lips the steam was welcoming as it floated up to greet her chilled face. It felt pleasant on her blood-red cheeks and nose—Why was Jack Frost nipping on her nose, can’t he just eat it all or something it might be warmer than—She eyed him suspiciously over the top of the cup, his lips twitched under his beard like he was pleased that she was weary of him. “C’mon, what are ya waitin’ for.” 

Steeling herself—curse her need to rise to the challenge—she sipped at the drink, instantly her tense body seemed to melt as the warm drink lit a warmth inside her cold— _so cold, oh why was it so cold, someone please_ — body. The taste of chocolate, cinnamon, and other warm spices she couldn’t describe danced warmly in her mouth. She lunged forward into the man’s chest, gripping at the cup that seemed to be her only hope of survival when she felt it moving away from her.

The man shushed her wrapping a strong arm around her back to bring her closer to the heat that his body seemed to generate like a heater. “ _Shh Darlin’,_ I wasn’t takin’ it from ya, I thought you needed to breathe that’s all.” He soothed. “It’s yours, take your time Kid, it’s not going anywhere.”

As she drank that warmth from the cup, she could hear his hidden words not said _he’s not going anywhere either._


	2. He’s Been It All, A Freak, A Solider, A Weapon, But She Finally Made Him….A Protector.

He was better off on his own, that was his motto.

Besides the regular good old _fuck off_ or _fuck you._

He was an asshole that pissed the fuck out of people, and that meant making enemies.

Which leads to the shithole he ended up in.

He was doing fine held up in his little cabin up in the forestry of Alberta, nothing to do but drinking, smoke his cigars, chop wood, fight some poor fucker that was stupid enough to get in a cage fight with him, eat. _Rise, wash, repeat._

That was until he woke one night to his instincts screaming attack, his head might be scrambled eggs but at least he still had his instincts to fall back on. Teeth bared into an impressive snarl showing off sharp incisors hat can easily tare through flesh, inhaling through his nose scenting the hostile scents surrounding his cabin.

Gun powder clung to them mixing with scents of nervous sweat and the tang of malicious intent. Not some drunk unhappy rednecks than, who ever these fuckers are their trained, and on a mission. Now it’s just up in the air if that mission is to eliminate or capture.

So sue him, he ain’t feeling up to being hospitable right now.

He can’t be blamed though when they kick down his door, tracking the winter snow in with them. He also shows them just how much he doesn’t appreciate that by shoving his claws straight through the first fucker’s throat.

The solider dies gurgling his own blood, his buddies open fire not giving a shit if their shots hit their dead teammate. Roaring as bullets rain down on him using the dead man as a shield he rushed armed men throwing the dead body at the men knocking some off their feet.

Squiring a guy, his claws piercing through ribs and lungs like butter. The soldiers machine gun goes off as he dies with his finger squeezing the trigger, using it to his advantage Logan turned the gun onto the invading men.

One…two…three…four…five lay dead in his trashed cabin, releasing a breath sticking to the waiting by the door for the others he heard them making their way around the cabin. Hissing under is breath as three bullets push themselves out as his body heals, that never gets old.

Light shines through the broken doorway from the incoming soldiers, haven’t these guy learned not to give away their position in what ever shithole they crawled out of? 

Striking at the right moment slashing through the knee dropping the fucker to his knees and then a nicely timed claws through the throat. Growling lowly when probes of a taser hook into his back sending a voltage that would incapacitate a man without his healing factor.

Tarring the wires out, he lunged at the final soldier slashing his claws neatly through tactical gear and into the soft flesh of the stomach. “Haven’t you heard the sayin’ of never bring a taser to a knife fight.” He snarled, blood pooled onto the snowy ground. “You wanna to tell me why you fuckers c’monin’ after me, bud.”

The soldier scoffed, causing him to almost choke on his own blood. “Orders are orders.”

Logan snarled grabbing the soldier by his tactical vest to bring the dying man closer to his face. “Listen bud, patience isn’t exactly my strongest suit.” He growled, shoving his silver claws in the man’s face. “So why don’t ya tell me before I stop being so nice.”

“They won’t stop until they have you back, Weapon X.” The dying soldier chuckled, that turned into a hacking cough as blood spilled on the white snow. “In others words…. _you’re fucked._ ” The soldier used his last strength to spit blood in Logan’s face.

Logan’s nostrils flared, as he stared down the soldier watching as his eyes widen in shock when claws stabbed through his jaw killing him.

Rubbing his knuckles as he rose off the snow covered ground, looking at the carnage that was his cabin. He needed to lie low, he needed to go somewhere no one would look for him. This was why he was better off alone.

That’s how he ended up driving across Canada, hitching a ride on a boat heading to London, England.

He blended in on the streets, those fuckers found him because he was too predictable, so he stayed in the cities bouncing around London always on the move.

He let his constantly growing hair to grow, it was easier to hide from surveillance when he didn’t look like him self. Just another homeless guy on the street.

Making his way down an alleyway that lead to the Main Street, smoking the last bit of his cigar when a scent caught his attention.

Sickness, pain, anger, acceptance filled the alleyway with their stench, they almost made him miss the underline scent of earth, cleaning supplies, some sort of flower, and youth.

It’s surprised him that it caused the cigar smoke to go down the wrong pipe, drawing a ragged cough out of him. The pain healed instantly, as he focused on that scent.

It was a kid.

Now kids on the street ain’t shocking or new to him, but this cub barely smelled old enough to lose the scent of its mother’s milk.

Moving closer to the cub, he could pick up the cub’s heart speeding up. The little thing had heard him he could now tell that it was a girl, but just looking at her, he wouldn’t be able to tell with how she swam in her clothes—clothes that were worn down that offered no warmth and faintly smelt of another child— the cub didn’t lift her head to see who was coming closer even though her heart was jack-rabbiting in her small chest.

Her mop of hair was a mess on top of her head, he could tell she was laying in wait of something the scent of anger and acceptance strengthening. He waited her out to she if she would do something.

 _He waited…waited…waited…and waited,_ Okay fuck this.

He crept closer to her, so she couldn’t ignore him, he heard her heart pounding, but he couldn’t smell any fear only a bitter acceptance. Her frozen body tensed and curled up protecting her head and stomach, in a way that screamed she had practice protecting her little body from blows.

Stopping a rumbling growl from rising up from his chest, no need to scare the cub any more especially if this was an abused cub. He could handle her fine if she ended up attacking, but he really didn’t want to provoke her into the need to defend herself. Even corner cubs could do some damage, not that it mattered with his healing factor.

He waited for her to speak up, in the silence of the alleyway but the cub was holding her silence heck the runt was even holding her breath in hoping he would mosey on his way leaving her to her own devices.

He knocked his booted foot against her soaked sneaker, taking extra care to be gentle so not to hurt her fragile bones. The cub huffed in annoyance, he smirked at her attitude even when she was sick and tired as she was.

The cub struggled to lift her weary head, her emerald eyes piercing him with her near feral defiance but in those depths he could see how bone tired she was. She was dangling from an edge, and for some fucked up reason he was the only one around to pull her back up to stand on her feet.

He studied her just as she studied him, the cub was small—the kind that came from _sickness_ and _hunger_ , he bet under those baggy clothes that were made for an obese child he would be able to count every fragile bone in her body— she was swimming in her large plaid shirt with a t-shirt under that, she wasn’t able to store any warmth with how big and worn her clothes were. The cold winds cut through her body, chilling her tiny body to her brittle cold bones. Her jeans were only held up with a cracking belt pulled tight as it could go, even then they were still too big. 

The cub looked starved, a little wild child with her pitch black birds nest she called hair curled and stuck up in every direction, he didn’t know if it was from being unkept or just how it grew. Her frostbitten nose and cheeks were rosy red against her tanned skin, he could tell by the way she was paling that sickness and hypothermia was setting in. He was gonna have to talk some sense into the cub, wasn’t he?

“Hey Kid, what ya doing out in the cold.” He demanded, his voice as gruff as ever. He watched her face with a razor focus, the same way he did with his opponents, his nose twitched as she grew hostile but amused.

The little runt’s near goddamn blue lips pulled back into a snarl, but it could’ve been a smirk, she looked like she didn’t know when to shut her mouth. He was proven right when she croaked out her reply. “Minding my own business, you should try it, _Old man._ ” He was right the runt was a little shit, her tone was as sharp as a knife and quick as a whip.

The wolverine in him growled loudly at the challenge the cub was putting out, he stared her down. The Wolverine wanting to make the little runt summit but knew she was trying to scare him off the only way she could. He watched as she fought her own instincts that screamed to cower and hide, to brace for a beating. No, the smart— _or stupid depending on whom you ask_ —little cub stared right back into his eyes, unknowingly barring her bruised throat to him.

The dark blotches and spattering decorated her breakable throat—god he could easily crush it with one hand, no super strength needed—he and the Wolverine bristled and growled at the hand shaped bruising curled around her throat like a collar or a brand.

He scoffed-huffed at the shit he found himself into, he stalked away from the cub following his nose to around the alleyway bend to a convenient little coffeehouse.

Pushing the glass door open as a cheerful ring of a bell chimed above him welcoming to the overpowering smells of coffee, cinnamon, ginger, pumpkin and all little different baked goods. The barista watched him wearily as he stalked over to the counter, her fake smile strained as she leaned away from his looming form.

“H-How can I help you?” The girl stammered, looking as if she’d faint. 

He snorted at the trembling girl, wondering how the sickly little cub had more backbone in her frozen and weary body then this girl. “Hot chocolate.” 

The girl stared at him as if she never heard of the drink before. “W-what?”

“Look Lady ya got hot chocolate in this joint or not.” He demanded, growling drawing a squeak out of the girl. She nodded her head frantically rushing to get his order, scrambling and tripping over herself like an overexcited pup or maybe a headless chicken.

The girl shook handing him the drink, he huffed at her slapping down some bills on the counter grabbing the warm drink heading back out of the door, hearing the girl slump over the counter in relief when the bell signalled his exit.

He turned back around the alleyway the cub was slumped against the stonewall her dark eyelashes resting on her alarming rosy cheeks. His nose scented the salt from tears, but he bet if anyone had a reason to cry it would be this little cub too small and sickly.

She jerked out of her head as the ice crunched underneath her boots, those piercing emerald eyes snapping to him watching his every move he slowly stalked closer to her so’s not to alarm her any more than she already was. He crouched down in front of her, so he would be looming over her. She was so tiny that even crouch he still towered over her, and he wasn’t the tallest of men.

Hold the warm cup out for her to take only for the cub to blink those large emerald eyes of hers up at him not getting what he wanted her to do. Heaving a sigh at the cub he reached for her tiny hand to put that steaming cup in her hand himself.

The scent of fear burst out of her for the first time as she jerked out of his reach uselessly as her back was already pressed against the stonewall. Her jackrabbit heart back at least it wasn’t slowly crawling beat it was, this cub needed to get out of the cold and soon.

“Not gonna to hurt ya, Kid.” He soothed gruffly, a soft rumble came from his chest the Wolverine in him hoping the rumble would help calm the cub instead of scaring her further.

Slowly he clearly reached for that tiny hand again making his acts as obvious as possible. She watched him wearily, jerking in surprise as he placed the warm cup in her freezing hand. His own hands dwarfed hers, but those tiny hands were rough from callouses and scarred over from old scraps and scratches that got infected or were never treated. 

Her fingers offered no grip or strength with how long they were exposed to the cold. Minor frostbite was setting in from how rubbery her skin felt, he wrapped his own hand around hers helping her hold the cup. Wolverine rising to surface with the need to take of the sick cub.

“It’s okay, Kid.” He rumbled, helping her lift the warm cup up to her lips a whine left her lips when she felt the steam on her chilled face. Even with that she eyed him suspiciously over the top of the cup, his lips twitched pleased that she still had it in her to not give her full trust. “C’mon, what are ya waitin’ for.” He dared her, knowing that a little runt like her wouldn’t be able to deny a challenge.

He could practically see her steeling herself to rise to the challenge, she tentatively sipped at the hot chocolate her body lost all her all tense all but melting against him. Shifting to adjust the drink, so she would spill it all over her self, when she snarled lunging into his chest gripping at the cup of hot chocolate like it was the only kept her alive.

Shushing her snarled and whines, he wrapped an arm around her tiny back—his hand splayed the width of her back _for god’s sake_ , just another strike to an already shitty world—he brought her closer to him letting her freezing body soak in his body heat, her skin was like ice he needed to get her warmed up yesterday. 

“ _Shh Darlin’_ , I wasn’t takin’ it from ya, I thought you needed to breathe that’s all.” He hushed her softening his voice in hopes of soothing her. “It’s yours, take your time Kid, it’s not going anywhere.” He watched as she drank from the warm cup, like a starved wolf pup. Both he and the Wolverine agreed there was no force that could pull him from the little cub in his arms, they’d find out how serious he was at the end of his claws. 

_Come on then, you cowards._

Haven’t you heard of the saying never come between the Wolverine and his cub? No? Well then you better learn quick because he had some bones to pick and some fuckers to kill.

But that can wait until he got his cub warm and fed, _then it was on._


End file.
